My tips glide over the edge of a huge pillow line.
Next thing I know, however, I am accelerating onwards through the glade.
I now fly swiftly through the fresh powder, making occasional turns in huge, slow slash style.
Only me, the mountain and regularly spaced, snow-laden trees, glimmering white in the morning sun.
I fly through the powder, getting a face-full of fresh snow every time I make a turn.
I stop, and check out the landing.
Sketchy, but doable.
I sit down on a conveniently placed log right next to my stump-kicker.
Probably the tree that fell to make my kicker.
Some snow occasionally drifts down from the high branches of trees with the breathing of the wind.
I grab my skis and start hiking.
It is hard work trudging through the waist deep snow, but nevertheless rewarding.
I shout as I get ready to go for it.
Then I can see the trees again, and the snow, and then my landing comes into view.
I feel my back extending and my feet trailing behind me.
See you next week!
